Onlooker
by You'veBeenJayed
Summary: "Have you ever loved somebody so much, you couldn't stand to be with anyone else? No matter what you do, you just can't get over them, even if they'll never love you back."


**So tell me who the mystery "he" is! The "he" that the point-of-view characters likes, not the one that the he likes. …I kind of got that confusing.**

I watch him as he eats his lunch, spilling ketchup all over himself. He's always such a messy eater. I laugh to myself as I know he'll never realize what he did until somebody points it out, then he'll probably make some sort of sarcastic comment like, "Oh, that's cool," then a perverted one to whoever told him about it, "You want to lick it off?" He would probably wink—or maybe not—and flash them that award-winning grin of his with those perfectly white teeth. But, for now, nobody mentions it.

I watch as he converses with the rest of our friends, laughing here and there, throwing a comment or two out there, but mostly keeping quiet to listen to everybody else. That is, until someone brings something up and that spark clicks in the back of his mind that reminds him he has a story for this. He always knows the funniest things.

I've grown quiet these days, so I usually sit back and watch everyone socialize. It's not that I'm not social or that I don't want to, it's just I'm too busy watching to pay attention to what everyone's saying to add in my own comment. Besides, even if I did say something eventually, I would be expected to say something witty or funny or perverted, and then I would flail and everyone would laugh, including him. So I usually don't bother.

We're all having a pretty good time at our own special little lunch table, two to a seat, three in one for the smaller people, like Tweek, Butters, and Kevin. Then he comes around and takes him away from all of us, no questions asked. He throws us a simple, "See you later, guys!" and then he's gone.

My eyes narrow after him as my hands clench together tightly, but I make sure that it's not noticeable enough for someone to say something about it. An onlooker could, however, suggest that I'm jealous. But that wouldn't be right. Saying I'm jealous makes me sound clingy, resentful, angry—but none of those things are true. I'm happy for him. And I'm happy that he's happy. But I can't help that pang in my chest that shoots up and down my body whenever I see them together, or that electric shock I get whenever he looks at me a different way or shoots me that wonderful smile of his, or the slight stutter I get whenever I try to talk to him one-on-one. So, no, I don't want to say jealous is the right word. I'm not jealous.

I'm in love.

The bell rings and I look away as I see them stare into each others' eyes, making the moment last for as long as possible, before he leans down and—

I can't watch any longer. I sigh heavily before walking past them to get to my class. A thought crosses my mind as I pass behind him, and I debate what would happen if I turned him around and punched him in the face. Not him-him, the him that took the him away from me. These are two different people, you need to understand.

But I quickly cast that thought away. If I ever did that, he would hate me forever. He would never forgive me. So for the time being, I swallow down the pain and keep walking with my head turned away. I shudder, however, as I pass, and he says nothing to me.

"Hey!" I turn around, my hopes rising, but they quickly drop as I see someone other than him coming up to me. Instead, it's Craig. What could that asshole want? I swear, if he makes me late to class, I'm not going to be a happy camper.

"Yeah?" I asked.

He shifts, normally nonchalant expression growing nervous. What the hell could he be… Oh. Ohhh. Oh, hell no. Why? Why? Why would HE want to be asking ME that? I open my mouth to stop him from saying whatever he's going to say, but he interrupts me before I can say anything.

"Will you go out with me?" Craig asks.

I look at him for a long moment, hearing the one-minute warning bell go off in the background, but it doesn't bother me anymore. I realize he looks completely freaked out right now and…and I break. I wish I wasn't so nice.

"Okay," I tell him, casually and simply.

Craig lights up, dark blue-grey eyes sparkling like I've seen in him so many times before. It almost scares me how similar the spark is. I tell him we need to get to class as an excuse to leave. I feel bad in the back of my mind because I know that I'm just going to break up with him in a week or two anyway, just like any other guy I've gone out with in the past. Relationships have never worked for me very well. Something you must know, though, is I've never been broken up with. Every person I've ever gone out with, I've broken up with.

The sad, cliché thing about that? When I tell them, "It's not you, it's me," I actually mean it.

The onlooker needs to understand something about me before they judge. They need to be asked a question or two about love, about life, about the people around them. This is why I watch. I watch people to study their reactions to each other (he loves her, she loves him, they can't stand each other, those two are just friends, etc.). In fact, I could probably tell you word-per-word how they would answer my questions; yet I somehow have yet to be able to fully comprehend the questions for myself.

So put yourself in my place and think; think real hard now. Have you ever loved somebody so much, you couldn't stand to be with anyone else? No matter what you do, you just can't get over them, even if they'll never love you back. It hurts to know this and you'll never be able to accept it, but you force yourself to pretend you are anyway, even though late at night, you cry to yourself and fall asleep thinking about how great it would be if you with that person.

Now that you know what it's like to be me, imagine going through this façade every fucking day of your life, standing on the sidelines and watching him get away with someone else—someone who just isn't you.

It hurts, doesn't it?

The school day ends like any other and I go to get off my bus at the proper stop and he tugs on my sleeve, stopping me before I pass by his seat. Craig is nowhere around and neither is he, to my cruel happiness. He had been sitting by himself since his…boyfriend got off and I opted to sit with Stan.

I feel that jolt again. It runs up my arm, to my collar bone, down to my heart, and spreads all throughout my body like a warm electrical shock. "What is it?" I ask, probably sounding a little more mean than intended, and I wish to take it back and start over. Maybe we could start all the way back to the day we first met and I could try this all over again. But that's just stupid thinking.

"I, uh, well, I wanted to…," he started, looking nervous. The look on Craig's face from earlier passed through my mind and my heart leap through my throat. I could feel a blush creeping onto my cheeks and my mind start to buzz. But then, then I stopped myself. I swallowed my heart and wiped a hand over my face and straightened my composure. That kind of thinking wasn't right. I couldn't read him like an open book—I was wrong all along and I'm wrong now.

"Yeah?" I asked, mimicking my words from earlier.

He gives me a quick once-over and his expression changes into a knowing one. He smiles at me apologetically and shakes his head, hair shaking back and fourth. "I-I heard about you and Craig. Congrats," he says, giving me a wink and the award-winning smile. I pretend like I hadn't seen that coming and nod slightly. Clyde pushes at my back and snaps at me to hurry up and get off already, Stan standing right behind him.

I nod and start to walk. I look up to the bus window in hopes that he's looking back—maybe we could share knowing smiles or an electric glance—but he's turned away, attention already drawn to something else. So I sigh and continue walking the short, cold way home.

It hurts, doesn't it?

I faintly think in the back of my mind that maybe he's going through the same thing. That maybe he's not with who he wants to be with and that maybe he loves somebody else. Somebody like…me? No, that's not right! I really need to stop over thinking these things. Because I should know by now, that that could never be true. I'm talking to my onlooker here. I don't know who that may be—maybe it's Craig even—but that's who you are.

I am his onlooker and I am in love with him. You—you are my onlooker. You are in love with me and I just know it, whoever you are.

_I am your onlooker, Kyle._


End file.
